


Can't Help Malling in Love with You

by sunflowersailor



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (sorry), Fluff and Humor, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, M/M, Mentioned Glenn Fraldarius, Pining, brief depiction of anxiety, dorothea and pete wentz are both celebrities in this universe, its like bed sharing but 10 percent less gay, so do with that information what you must, table sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29845485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowersailor/pseuds/sunflowersailor
Summary: Every day, Sylvain works up the courage to try and ask the handsome Hot Topic employee with the same break schedule as him to sit with him at lunch, only to fail miserably. That is, until a full food court with only one table to share between the both of them turns out to be the chance he's been waiting for to make his move.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 16
Kudos: 70





	Can't Help Malling in Love with You

It’s 11:55 AM, which means Sylvain has five minutes before he walks out of the young adult infested, gaudy pop music playing store and into the hustle and bustle of Fodlan’s biggest—and grossest, if the bathrooms and food court are anything to go by—mall. Three of those minutes will be spent looking for his supervisor, whose wide, green eyes will pierce a hole through his soul as she dismisses him for lunch with the same expressionless nod that always makes him feel like she’s reaching into the innermost depths of his heart and pulling his dirty secrets out for the world to see.

(Just how did Dimitri become such fast friends with her anyway? Sylvain sure as hell doesn’t understand the appeal, but he does suppose her chest makes up for her demeanor—a notion Ingrid had scolded him for).

The next minute after that will be him taking his nametag off—briefly considering tossing it into the nearest trash can until he remembers he actually needs this job—and beginning his walk past the screaming babies and oblivious mothers into the jungle that is the mall.

And the last minute?

He’ll see  _ him _ .

Every single day at noon exactly, not a minute more or less, Sylvain Jose Gautier comes face to face with the most ruggedly handsome Hot Topic employee he’s ever laid eyes on. His store is right across from Sylvain’s own, so Sylvain has the pleasure of seeing the scowling man emerge from the store like Venus rising from the sea on her clamshell (except if Venus was a goth, adult man coming out of a bat cave).

They will make approximately five to ten seconds of awkward eye contact, Sylvain will try to open his mouth to say something, and he’ll inevitably fail at said task. Instead, they’ll continue to walk side by side (but not really because they’re just strangers who happen to be going to the same place) towards Fodlan’s largest selection of mediocre fast food chains to get lunch.

When they make it to the food court, they’ll separate—Sylvain will go to get a sandwich that’s way too greasy and will probably lead to an early grave when combined with his weekend drinking habits, and Mr. Continuing His Scene Phase Into Adulthood will head to the tiny curry cart tucked away in the corner of the court. 

It’s fitting, Sylvain thinks—a guy who seems to have a grimace permanently etched onto him going to the absolute furthest reaches of humanity to get away from other people. Or, maybe he just really likes spicy food. The man is a mystery novel, and Sylvain finds himself turning page after page.

After they get their food, Sylvain definitely does not watch him eat. That would be a weird thing to do, and Sylvain knows enough about basic decency to know that staring at people from across the room is creepy—no matter how much Ingrid insists that wishing a stranger would say hi to you is “very weird.” But what does Ingrid even know, anyway? She’s a horsegirl, so her weirdness is at least one level above Sylvain’s own, nevermind the fact that he also likes horses.

Instead of staring at him—because again, he’s definitely  _ not _ weird, shut up Ingrid—Sylvain will contemplate what would happen if one day he did take that leap of faith. What if the words didn’t get stuck in the back of his throat, and he just asked him if they could sit together for lunch? He’s imagined doing it at least a hundred times, and generally speaking, the fantasies all end the same: the man points a daggered glare at him (one he swoons over because he’s still cute, even if he is threatening to report him to security) and tells Sylvain to fuck off. 

But sometimes though, if his brain decides to be nice to him, the man will give him a less menacing glare, question his motives, but ultimately give in when Sylvain explains that he’d be grateful to have someone to eat with.

Yeah, if only.

At the rate things are going now, Sylvain is destined to sit alone until he gets gray hairs on his head, or until he finally leaves his shitty job, which might also be until he gets gray hairs on his head.

What Sylvain needs, more than anything, is a twist of fate. Something to upset the daily routine, something that will give him the chance he’s been dreaming of.

So that’s why, when he shoves past the droves of people to make it to the one place where he can exist without worrying about putting on a smile for customers that definitely don’t deserve it and sees that it’s packed to the brim, something akin to hope stirs in him. Normally, a packed food court is a huge inconvenience. Longer wait times mean less time to eat, less eating time makes Sylvain’s practiced smiles just a little less charming.

But today? Today, it’s a miracle.

Today, there’s only one table available by the time Sylvain and Mr. IRL Sasuke get their food. It’s right by a giant window, where the sun’s rays breach the glass and shine directly on the ugly, food stained plastic table top. Sylvain takes it as a sign directly above; surely this must mean that the Goddess is shining her heavenly glow down, revealing his fate. Surely, the two seats were put there for the sole purpose of Sylvain sitting his ass down and inviting someone else to sit with him.

Now, all he has to do is convince Mr. Resting Bitch Face that his ass is meant for the other seat.

Sylvain swivels his head around and spots him, his own head surveying the area for any other tables. Sylvain uses all of his non-existent faith in higher powers to pray that no one decides to leave right then and there and ruin his grand, not-very-well thought out scheme. Luckily, the Goddess decides to hear his pleas, and everyone seems to have settled in for a long lunch.

Dark hair and dark eyes meet his own as Mr. Shadow the Hedgehog Gijinka looks at Sylvain, then towards the table. Sylvain can practically see the gears in his head turning as he looks back and forth, expression growing more and more irritated by the second as the connections make themselves. Sylvain shoots him a hopeful smile, which does nothing to dissipate the frown on the other’s face.

Is where Sylvain’s luck runs out? Will the other decide to abandon his food and disappear from his life?

Sylvain doesn’t even realize he’s been holding his breath until the other rolls his eyes and nods toward the table, making him exhale one of the biggest sighs of relief he’s let out since the time he found out he wasn’t required to help when a baby had puked in a dressing room.

Sylvain, buzzing with excitement, turns on his heel and practically speedwalks to the table before someone else has a chance to grab it and snatch his only chance of victory away from him. When he sits down, he turns his head back towards Mr. Emo Dream.

Sylvain’s never really gotten the chance to observe the other man before, now that he thinks about it. They usually walk side by side a reasonable distance away from each other, and Sylvain doesn’t dare steal any sideways glances because he’d rather die than be caught staring. But now that he’s in front of him, Sylvain notices a lot more. For starters, the guy is so angular that Sylvain suspects there isn’t a curve to be found on him. His jawline matches the glare he usually sees him walk out of the store with: sharp, almost dangerously so. Or at the very least, dangerous for Sylvain, as his thoughts tend to travel to what he’d do if he had the chance to get close to that pretty face without getting ripped apart.

His thoughts nearly begin their march down that road for the hundredth time as he stares, except they don’t, because before he knows it, his vision is suddenly assaulted with a shock of purple and his nose is pummeled with a rose cologne.

And just as quickly as he was floating on Cloud Nine, he’s now finding himself falling at incredibly high speeds straight toward the ground.

The culprit of his ruined mood is none other than Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, as it always seems to be.

Sylvain has a lot of words to describe Lorenz, and not a single one of them are good. His three personal favorites are pompous, arrogant, and bitchy. Lorenz is the type of guy who would unironically call people peasants if he was a tumblr user back in the 2012-2014 era, and he’s also the type of guy to flaunt his extensive wealth while simultaneously doing nothing to fix the inequality he claims to hate so much. His holier-than-thou attitude, combined with his inability to take “no” for an answer, makes him the top of Sylvain’s list of “Guys I Want to See Get Juice Poured All Over Them”, the second person on that list being none other than Kanye West. 

To put it simply, Lorenz is an idiot. An idiot, who is not about to ruin the one chance Sylvain has with this guy or so help him, Sylvain might just walk out of the mall today and go directly to jail for assault on an asshat.

“Sylvain,” Lorenz greets, pushing his long, purple hair behind his shoulder while simultaneously sending another wave of rose scent that makes his eyes burn out of his sockets, “Seeing as there’s nowhere else to sit, I’m just going to sit here, if you don’t mind.”

Sylvain glances over Lorenz’s shoulder, makes quick eye contact with his man of the hour, and finds that he’s stopped in his tracks, already pivoting on one foot to walk away.

Oh no, Sylvain is _ not _ about to let everything go to waste. Not after he’s gotten himself this far. He’s going to look directly into Lorenz’s stupid face, smile his customer service smile, and tell him to fuck off in his customer service voice.

“Actually Lorenz, I  _ do _ mind. I have a person with me today,” he says, gesturing behind him at the man, “and you’ve just interrupted them. So you’ll be doing us both a favor by finding somewhere else to sit.”

Surprise colors Lorenz’s features as he looks owlishly between the two. Sylvain hopes he’ll just apologize and move on, but he knows Lorenz, and Lorenz does not move on because Lorenz never knows what’s good for him, and it’s one of the most infuriating things about him.

“Sylvain, I’ve never seen you with this person before. Are you sure he’s trustworthy? How do you know him?”

Oh for Sothis’ sake. Sylvain is two seconds away from calling mall security and making something up to get Lorenz to leave him be, nevermind the fact that  _ technically speaking _ he doesn’t know a thing about him. But that’s what getting to know someone is for in the first place, is it not?

“Lorenz,” Sylvain says, placing a placating hand (that may or may not be pushing the other man away) on his shoulder, “I assure you that we know each other very well, isn’t that right?”

Sylvain prays to every deity out there that this guy knows what improv is, and his prayers are answered when the other quickly nods back.

“You see? Now go find somewhere else.”

Lorenz’s eyes narrow. “But-”

“ _ Goodbye _ , Lorenz!” Sylvain quickly interrupts, trying his damndest not to grit his teeth as he waves him away. 

Lorenz’s eyes stay narrowed. Sylvain wonders if he’s really won this time, or if he actually will have to pour his drink all over him to get him to go. Then, finally,  _ finally,  _ he turns on his heel, and walks in the other direction. The purple menace is no more.

Mr. Black Sabbath remains stock-still when Sylvain finally makes eye contact with him again. He reminds him of one the cats Sylvain’s stayed crouched by alleyways for several minutes to get to come out. It’s… cute, actually. He’s cute. He’s  _ so _ cute.

“You didn’t have to tell him to leave. I could’ve sat somewhere else.”

And now he’s  _ speaking _ . To him! To Sylvain!

And how lovely his voice sounds, deep like the furthest depths of the ocean, rough like sandpaper—it compliments his demeanor perfectly.

Sylvain takes a moment to let the sound of his voice wash over him, savoring every syllable, before responding. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I hate him anyway, I’d much prefer your company.”

Mr. Rawr XD seems to contemplate a little longer before finally,  _ finally _ sitting down across from him. The tiny, shitty chair squeaks under his weight, and Sylvain once again finds himself praying—more specifically, praying it doesn’t fall off, because he  _ needs  _ this to work.

A thin bout of silence is stretched between them as he shifts in the chair again. Sylvain sits there for another minute, then tentatively begins eating, the other quickly following suit. 

It’s still silent. It’s still silent, but he hasn’t left yet, which only means one thing: Sylvain is winning his heart.

This is going great. This is going  _ so _ great. This is going just like one of the disgustingly cheesy rom coms Caspar gets way too emotionally invested in. Now is Sylvain’s chance to show Mr. MCR just how suave of a person he actually is, and-

“Don’t look at me while we eat.”

Alright, so maybe sparks aren’t exactly flying on both ends. That’s fine, Sylvain’s always preferred the roses with thorns anyway, they’re always sweeter when you get past the prickly outside. And as an added bonus, he looks extra handsome with the murderous glint in his coffee colored eyes.

“Kinda hard when you’re sitting right across from me,” Sylvain answers, because apparently every ounce of self preservation he has is nowhere to be found at the moment.

His scowl deepens, and Goddess is it the prettiest scowl he’s ever seen on a human. It almost makes him want to keep teasing him, but he has to refrain, lest he scares him away.

“I can eat in the bathroom.” It’s not a statement, it’s a threat. One both of them know for a fact he won’t act on because anyone with more than two brain cells knows that the bathrooms by the food court are a crime against the Goddess, and should really be tested for radioactivity.

“You can, if you want roaches to steal your food,” Sylvain fires back, trying (and failing miserably) to hold back a smirk.

And then—the promised land. Mr. Never Grew Out of His Tight Skinny Jeans and Studded Belt actually lifts the corner of his mouth ever so slightly, just enough that if Sylvain had blinked for even half a second, he’d miss it.

If Sylvain thought his scowl was beautiful, his half smile—the ice in his eyes melting just the slightest bit as the tension in his face drains—is bound to send him to the ER right then and there. If he doesn’t get this guy’s number by the end of lunch, he absolutely won’t forgive himself.

“Who says I’m afraid of some bugs?”

Sylvain holds back a guffaw. “Have you even seen those things? I swear they have, like, abs. They’d definitely take your food from you.”

Mr. Evanescence (Sylvain really needs to learn his name soon, he’s running out of ridiculous nicknames), rolls his eyes, but his smile doesn’t leave. Another victory. “I’ve never let a bug get the best of me before, and I’m not about to start now.”

Sylvain grins. “Guess working at Hot Topic makes boys into men then, huh?”

The other groans deeply, the type of groan that comes with dealing with teenagers hopped on Auntie Anna’s Pretzels (damn that red haired woman and her soft, warm baked goodness). “Don’t remind me. If I could leave I would, trust me.”

The words  _ but then I wouldn’t be able to see you anymore  _ dance on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them down and goes with something less weird. “You and me both, man. At least the music you listen to is somewhat varied, though. I swear I have Dorothea Arnault’s latest album memorized every time I leave H&M.”

He immediately sits up straighter, surprising Sylvain. “What’s wrong with Dorothea Arnault?”

Sylvain blinks once, then twice.

Oh.

Oh, this is a delicious turn of events. There are  _ layers _ to this guy. Beneath the emo exterior lies a hundred other things Sylvain isn’t aware of—a hundred more reasons to keep talking to him, a hundred more possibilities to fall more in love than he already is.

“There’s nothing wrong with her, I just don’t want to hear her all the time. But more importantly,” Sylvain says, making a point to look at him up and down, “How is it that you out of all people listen to Dorothea?”

The scowl from before is back on his face, and to be fair, Sylvain deserves it for making assumptions. But he can’t help it when someone who looks like he kins Pete Wentz tells him this kind of thing.

“What do my looks have to do with what I like?”

He crosses his arms, which is how Sylvain knows he’s made a mistake, as he always seems to when talking to someone he really wants to make a good impression with. “Sorry, sorry, I know, it’s stupid of me to assume. I guess it’s just,” Sylvain thinks for a moment, “I’ve just been wondering about what type of person you were since I’ve seen you. Like, not to be creepy-”

“That’s a little creepy.”

“Okay, fair, but hear me out. Is it really so weird to be at least a  _ little _ curious about a guy I’ve seen every day for the past year or so? Don’t get me wrong, we don’t have to be friends or anything. I just feel like,” Sylvain pauses, then steels himself, then continues, “if I’m gonna be stuck in this shithole, I wanna be stuck with someone I know, you know?”

By the incredulous look Sylvain is being given, he knows he’s come off way too strong. Damn his hopefulness for hijacking the rationality part of his brain. For someone who’s brought home more girls than there are eyelashes on his face, he sure is making it seem like he’s as smooth as a cactus.

Sylvain sighs and rubs his temples. Great job, Gautier, you really showed him how cool you are. “Listen, I know I probably came off really strong, I’m sorry about that. You don’t have to share anything about yourself if you don’t-”

“Who says I don’t want to?”

Sylvain stops, mouth hanging wide open, then quickly shuts it to save every last shred of dignity he has before it all completely flies away. “Wait, really? You’re sure?”

The other crosses his arms, but his scowl is noticeably softer, and he’s not as hunched in on himself as he was earlier. “You may be an idiot, but you’re right. Being alone here has proven to be insufferable, and my coworkers are too caught up in their own bullshit for me to get to know them. Plus…”

Maybe it’s a trick of the light, or maybe it’s Sylvain’s own very active imagination, but whatever it is, there’s a hint of pink that dusts his cheeks, and he’s suddenly looking anywhere  _ but _ at Sylvain as his hands occupy themselves with the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Plus?”

“Plus, I can’t say that I don’t understand you being curious. About a guy you’ve seen but never talked to.”

Sylvain lets the words play in his mind, then hits rewind, then play, then rewind, then play again. If he didn’t know any better, that sounded an awful lot like an admission. Felix’s words aren’t precise, but Sylvain knows how to read between the lines. 

He can’t help the grin that slides its way on his face. “I knew you’d understand! I mean, I don’t actually  _ know _ you, hell, I don’t even know your name-”

“Felix.”

Sylvain’s rambling hits the breaks. “Sorry, what?”

“Felix,” he repeats. “My name. You wanted to know, right?”

Sylvain nods vigorously. Yes, he did want to know. It’s literally the one thing he set out to do when he sat down at the table—well, besides get his number, but that’s a work in progress still.

“I guess I should introduce myself too,” Sylvain responds after waiting maybe a little too long as he was busy letting Felix’s name become permanently etched into his brain. “I’m Sylvain, and it’s nice to finally meet you, Felix.”

Felix offers him a small smile. “You too, Sylvain.”

Sylvain may or may not (read: may) take a lot of delight in the way the syllables of his name roll off of Felix’s tongue so easily, and he may or may not (again, read: may) be giddy at the fact that he’s comfortable enough to properly introduce himself to him. He’s  _ finally  _ talking with his manic pixie dream girl, er, boy. And, well… 

It appears he’s suddenly got absolutely nothing to say.

Sylvain, the guy who is a jukebox of words and conversation starters, finds that he’s suddenly run out of quarters. Or, more accurately, he’s put in too many quarters, and every conversation starter he goes for on every date he’s ever been on seems to get lost in his mouth because there’s just  _ too much _ to ask about. What should he start with first? His favorite food? His favorite movie? His opinion on the current state of the economy and how it affects Fodlan’s relations with other nations??

Felix seems to sense Sylvain’s struggle from across the table, and instead of helping him, he huffs out a small laugh. “Do your first time conversations always go this awkwardly?”

Sylvain balks. Felix is lucky he’s as cute as he is, because a remark like that… Well, actually, Sylvain finds that charming about him as well. He does like the roses with thorns, after all. 

(And he’d never pass up an opportunity to see him smile).

Still, though, Sylvain has to get back at him somehow. Felix isn’t the only one who knows how to play this game. “Hilarious, coming from the guy who would rather eat in the nasty bathrooms than talk to me.”

Felix balks back. Felix: 1, Sylvain: 1.

“At least I’m not afraid of some tiny bugs. It’s a wonder how you got through your life so far being scared of something that doesn’t even bite.”

Felix: 2, Sylvain: 1.

“Okay, but at least I’m less likely to die of a horrible disease because I eat in a clean area.”

Felix: 2, Sylvain: 2.

“You willingly chose a table with a stain of unknown origin on it. I seriously doubt that’s any better than a toilet.”

Sylvain opens his mouth to fire back a retort, and finds that he has none, because this conversation is getting to be absolutely absurd. And he’s absolutely enjoying every minute of it.

His snickers are evolving into full blown laughter before he even knows it, and to his surprise, Felix actually manages a smile himself.

“Alright, fine, you win this one,” Sylvain says after his laughter dies down, “Let’s switch the topic to something less gross before our lunch is ruined, yeah?”

From there, things progress smoothly. They idle their break away talking about everything from video games (“Fire Emblem? Sounds familiar, but I don’t know anything about it.” “Oh, you’d love it, there’s a guy in there that kinda looks like you—except he’s a swordsman, and you work at a mall.”) to horror stories (“Do you know how many times someone’s tried to stuff a Funko Pop in their underwear to steal it? A fucking  _ Funko Pop _ , Sylvain.” “Damn, and I thought the time we had a baby puke in the dressing room was bad.”).

Sylvain’s eaten many lunches in this food court, and all of them have been as dreary as the court itself. But having Felix to talk to has been a light, even if his dark hoodie and jeans suggest he might prefer being a shadow instead.

And wouldn’t it just be wonderful, if Felix could sit here with him every day? They could spend all their breaks like this, completely lost in each other’s presence, oblivious to the lurking shadow that is their shitty 9-5 jobs beckoning them back from the small respite they get at lunch. Sylvain could get used to hearing the snarky, sarcastic tone of Felix as he complains about how Hot Topic has gone downhill since 2011, and he could get used to the way his navy hair spills past his shoulders, and the way the amber in his eyes shimmers in the sun as he snorts at one of Sylvain’s jokes.

And maybe, if he’s lucky enough, he could continue this routine with Felix after work as well.

(And maybe back at his apartment, holding hands on his couch, if he’s really, really,  _ really _ , lucky).

But for now, he’ll cherish what little time they have together, which is unfortunately quickly coming to an end, as all good things must. But Sylvain’s determined to make the best of it, determined to show Felix that he wants this to happen again.

Which is exactly why, when the conversation somehow turns to  _ family _ of all things, Sylvain gets  _ that _ feeling—the type of feeling you get when you see dark clouds suddenly roll in on a sunny day.

Sylvain has been on enough first dates to know that family is an absolute no-go. The first time he asked a girl about her parents, she left the restaurant in tears—as it turns out, no one likes reliving memories of their controlling fathers. The second time he’d asked a guy about his parents, he was hit over the head with the story of how the man had been kicked out for being gay. After those two experiences, Sylvain wasn’t privy to find out if it was true what they say about the third time being the charm.

But he’d gotten comfortable with Felix. Maybe a little too comfortable, even, and he’d forgotten the rule he set for himself.

Sylvain, master of fucking up any good thing in his life, decides to start the newest topic of discussion with, “You said you had a brother, right? What’s he like? I’m gonna guess he’s better than my jackass of a sibling.”

It takes two seconds for Felix’s face to fall, but only half a second for Sylvain to realize he’s gone and thrown all the progress he’s made into the garbage.

“Shit, sor-”

“He’s dead.”

Yeah. Third time was definitely not the charm.

Felix’s eyes avoid his, and he withdraws into himself like he had at the very beginning when he sat down. Right back to square one with just one careless statement.

_ Fuck _ . This wasn’t how it was supposed to go  _ at all _ .

“Fuck. Felix, I shouldn’t have asked, I’m sorry.”

Felix only shrugs, but still looks anywhere but Sylvain. In fact, he looks like he wants to run away with how antsy he’s suddenly become. Sylvain wishes those eyes would look at him again, wishes he could see the way they crinkled when the other was getting ready to smile at something he said. Because that was the goal, wasn’t it? Get Felix to smile at him, get Felix to like him, get Felix to understand that he wants to be friends.

And in the end, just like every time he comes back home to an empty apartment after a date that doesn’t go anywhere, Sylvain feels too many things. Too many waves of nausea, too many voices telling him he’s a sorry excuse for a human, too many tremors as his anxiety works graveyard shift to ensure he knows he’s gone and messed things up again, and again,  _ and again _ .

“It’s fine, Sylvain. It’s- _ oh fuck _ , I only have two minutes,” Felix says hastily, glancing at his phone and quickly pocketing it.

And now he’s leaving. 

Felix is leaving, and this is unacceptable. Felix can’t leave without Sylvain knowing whether he’s upset with him or not. He can’t leave, because Sylvain needs to apologize, needs to reassure Felix that he didn’t mean to hurt him—that he won’t make this kind of mistake again because he cares about him. Felix is one of the best connections he’s ever made, and he wants him to stay. 

He really,  _ really _ , wants to keep seeing him.

And yet, when he finally opens his mouth to say the words, he finds that the only thing he can see is Felix’s back as he quickly walks away, deposits his garbage, and leaves.

He’s gone. And so is Sylvain’s one chance at redemption.

+++

The rest of the afternoon passes in a haze.

Sylvain greets customers on autopilot while his anxious thoughts sneer and bite at him like ravenous dogs.

“Hey there! Didja find everything okay?”

_ How could you fuck up this badly? Are you even trying to be a good person? _

“Yeah, we can do exchanges! I’ll just need to see your receipt.”

_ No wonder Ingrid and Dimitri are always getting on your case. You couldn’t even handle that one simple interaction. _

“Have a great day!”

_ What are you even good for anyway? _

“Sylvain, are you feeling okay?”

Sylvain nearly jumps a foot in the air as Byleth suddenly appears behind him, her ever wide and ever creepy stare once again making him feel like his innermost thoughts need to be told.

And honestly? This time, he’d really prefer if they stayed hidden.

“Sorry, By,” he responds, scrubbing the heel of his palm over his face, “Just a rough lunch, that’s all. But you know me, nothing keeps me down for long, especially when I get to see so many pretty ladies in the afternoon.”

His smile is stretched way too thin, and he knows it. He knows Byleth knows it too, because she always seems to read him like a goddamn children’s book. She seems to contemplate a little bit longer before speaking, and for some reason, it’s pissing him off. He wants to yell at her to stop analyzing him, go back and fold shirts, just don’t look at him like he’s pathetic.

“Sylvain, you’re done for today. Go home.”

Something in him breaks with a resounding  _ crack _ .

“I’m… I’m sorry?”

Byleth only stares. He’s getting sick of that fucking stare. “Obviously whatever has happened has left you on edge. I don’t want you to work while you’re not at your best, so go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And that’s it.

Byleth just turns around and leaves without giving him a chance for an apology or explanation. Just like Felix did.

If that’s how she wants to be, then fine. Sylvain will leave. He’ll leave, and the next day he’ll come back and do the same shit he always does, except he won’t get a chance to talk to Felix again. He’ll walk out of the store, like he’s doing right now, and Felix will be there, like he is now, except-

Wait. Felix is out right now?

“Sylvain?”

Sylvain blinks out of his stupor, and it takes a minute to find the right words to say. The fact that Felix is even talking to him at all is jarring in itself, but Sylvain’s just glad he even acknowledged him in the first place.

“Felix, hey. My supervisor let me off early today, so here I am.”

He gives a laugh to offset the awkwardness, but Felix’s eyebrows only knit together in confusion. Perhaps there’s some concern in there too, but Sylvain doesn’t dare allow himself to indulge in that thought.

“Why’d she let you go early? You’re not sick, are you?”

It’s definitely concern, and it definitely should be illegal for Sylvain to feel as happy as he is that Felix isn’t as upset as he thought he’d be. “Nah, I’m just…” Sylvain sucks in a breath. Felix is still here, so now’s his chance to make his amends. “I was just thinking about what happened earlier. At the food court. I wasn’t thinking, and I asked you a question I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry if it brought up any bad memories.”

Felix only shakes his head. “Like I said before, it’s really fine. I know you didn’t mean to do it on purpose, so I’m not mad.”

Sylvain’s eyes widen. Is Felix… really telling the truth? He’s not the type to lie—if anything, he’s brutally honest.

“So, then, I was worried about upsetting you for nothing?”

Felix nods. Sylvain feels like he can breathe for the first time in four hours. He really needs to thank Byleth for sending him home early later.

“And even if you did upset me, it’s not like I’d never want to talk to you again.”

Sylvain almost does a doubletake, because there’s no way he can be reading what Felix is trying to tell him correctly. Sylvain isn’t one to cling to hope, and he isn’t sure whether to take the lifeline Felix is giving him, in case he’s actually reading him wrong. But he supposes there’s only one way to find out. Felix told him at the beginning of their meeting not to assume things, but Sylvain’s about to assume the shit out of his statement.

“So that means… you  _ do _ want to talk again, right?”

Felix averts his eyes, but not in the same way as he did before when the atmosphere between them was uncomfortable. This time, there’s a ghost of a smile on his face that makes Sylvain’s heart flip in his chest. “If that’s what you’d like, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Sylvain has never wanted anything more in his life. “Yeah. I… yes, I would really like that, Felix.”

“So, then, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Sylvain nods vigorously. “Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow. Hopefully at a less gross table.”

Felix nods once, then turns to head toward the north exit of the mall while Sylvain tries not to vibrate out of the atmosphere with excitement.

Tomorrow at noon exactly—not a minute more or less, Sylvain will walk out of the store, into the mall, and be faced with the most ruggedly handsome Hot Topic employee he’s ever seen. He’ll call out to him without the words getting stuck in the back of his throat, and the other will respond. They’ll walk to the food court side by side—not as strangers, but as friends. They’ll separate, but will come back together to chat their break away, and Sylvain will learn even more about the man who’s held a place in his heart since the first time he saw him.

But before any of that can happen, before the sun can finally set on this day, there’s still one last goal Sylvain has to accomplish. 

“Hey, wait a sec, Felix! Can I get your number?”

**Author's Note:**

> lmaooo sorry they didnt kiss in this one. here i'll do a little scene to make up for it:
> 
> sylvain: wow felix you are looking so handsome in your lanyard with many naruto pins on it
> 
> felix: wow sylvain you are looking so stupid in your dumb flannel shirt thats opened to expose your breasts
> 
> felix and sylvain:....... *starts making out passionately*
> 
> the end <3
> 
> Twitter: Sunfl0wersailor  
> Tumblr: peachh-boy
> 
> comments and kudos are always appreciated :>


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